


One Life Down (Eight To Go)

by PsychicPineapple



Series: Derek is a Cat [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cat Derek, Crack Fic, Derek is a cat, M/M, an angry cat, but he gets better I guess, not beast/furry i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicPineapple/pseuds/PsychicPineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Derek is a cat, Stiles is too nice for his own good, and Deaton probably knows more than he's letting on.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>‘Hey, what’s his name?’</i></p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>  <i>‘Uh, Deaton calls him Derek.’</i></p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>  <i>‘Derek? You’re kidding. Derek is a people name. Scott,’ Stiles gestured at the crate, ‘he’s not people.’</i></p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>  <i>‘Yeah, well, I tried calling him ‘Mister Fluffy Pants’ one time and he shredded my favourite shirt,’ Scott sighed as he slung his backpack over one shoulder. ‘So maybe just stick with Derek.’</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	One Life Down (Eight To Go)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks, thanks for dropping by. Please note this is unbetad, so if you notice any errors please point them out and I'll fix them asap. Comments welcome!

The cat was jet black and _fluffy_. Its indistinct edges blurred together making it look like one giant, fuzzy black blob with shining green eyes. Its pupils were wide in distress, irises reduced to narrow rings of colour as it pushed itself backwards, shredded newspaper sliding under its paws.

 

‘I dunno, Scott,’ Stiles eyed the cat skeptically through the wire door of the carrier. ‘We’re not really cat people. If he was a Labrador or something then _maybe_ I could help you out.’ He straightened up, lifting one shoulder in a regretful gesture. ‘Sorry.’

 

‘Please, Stiles?’ Scott pleaded. ‘It’s not forever, just until we can find someone to take him.’ He slumped, dejection on his face. ‘It’s kitten season and we just don’t have room for him. We’ve rehomed most of the other adult cats but I just can’t find someone for this guy. He’s been here for weeks.’

 

‘Because he’s a hellcat,’ Stiles snorted. ‘Scott, he’s been here for weeks because he’s the spawn of kitty satan. Seriously, I have never seen a less personable cat.’ He peered back into the carrier, resting his fingertips against the wire. The cat hissed, baring its needle-sharp teeth and Stiles jerked his hand away. ‘Do you even know what breed he is?’

 

‘No idea,’ Scott answered, bending down next to Stiles to look in at the cat. ‘He was just hanging around the door one day. He kept headbutting my leg.’ Scott smiled softly. ‘He was actually kind of sweet, that first day. And now he’s gonna be put down, unless we can find him a home.’ He glanced over at Stiles, eyes sad.

 

‘Ugh, okay, fine. Stop side-eyeing me; you’re making me feel like a kitten killer.  I’ll take him.’ Scott did a little jump, fist-pumping the air as he landed. A smile lit up his face as he pulled Stiles in to a hug. ‘ _Temporarily_ ,’ Stiles clarified, ‘okay, just until you can find someone to take him. And you’re explaining this to my dad!’

 

‘Of course!’ Scott grinned into Stiles’ shoulder. ‘You’re the best, Stiles.’

 

‘Okay, gotta breathe,’ Stiles muttered, disentangling himself, ‘I seriously hope you’re not considering this as a career, you’re way too soft. Seriously, you’d make a _terrible_ vet.’

 

Scott barely heard the comment as he roamed around the surgery, pulling supplies from cupboards and drawers. ‘Okay, food, bowls, litter, litter tray…’ he trailed off, piling item after item on the exam table next to the carrier. When he was done he just stood, beaming at his friend. ‘You’re saving his life man, really.’

 

Stiles huffed out a laugh. ‘That’ll be a great comfort when you find him chewing on my lifeless corpse.’ He reached out and grabbed the carrier by the handle, the cat scuffling around inside. ‘Let’s go.’

 

*

 

Sheriff Stilinski was not pleased.

 

‘You feed him, you water him, you _pray_ he uses the litter tray and you clean it out when he does. He stays in _your_ room, he does _not_ roam the house. I find one hair on my uniform, catch a single whiffof that _nasty_ cat-pee smell-’

 

‘Dad, I get it,’ Stiles interjected, raising his hands in appeasement, ‘He’ll stay in my room, he’ll pee in my room, he’ll shed in my room. You really don’t need to worry, I’m not even sure I’m gonna let him out of this crate.’ Stiles gestured to where the carrier was sitting on the floor, the cat glaring out from behind the wire. His pupils were slitted, eyes narrowed as they roved around the room.

 

‘He’ll be fine,’ Scott assured them with a reassuring smile. ‘Once he gets used to your room he’ll probably just find a comfortable spot and sleep most of the day. You won’t even notice he’s there.’

 

The Sheriff turned to Scott with a frown. ‘And you’re paying for all the supplies?’

 

‘Yes, sir.’

 

‘And this is only temporary?’

 

‘Yes, sir,’ Scott nodded eagerly, ‘I’m going to start asking around tonight to see if anyone else can take him.’

 

‘Well, all right then,’ the Sheriff nodded, resigned. ‘I’m heading to the station, I better find the house exactly as I left it when I get home.’

 

‘Yes, Dad.’

 

‘Yes, sir.’

 

The Sheriff paused on his was out to look down at the carrier. ‘A cat,’ he murmured, with a full body shudder. Lifting his keys from the side-table, he walked out the door.

 

‘So are you good?’ Scott asked, once Stiles’ father was gone. ‘I need to cram for chemistry.’

 

‘Yeah, I’m good.’ Stiles shrugged, bending down to lift the carrier and look inside. ‘Guess we’ll just go upstairs and get settled, huh?’ A thought occurred to him and he lowered the carrier, letting it hang by his side. ‘Hey, what’s his name?’

 

‘Uh, Deaton calls him Derek.’

 

‘ _Derek_? You’re kidding. Derek is a people name. Scott,’ Stiles gestured at the crate, ‘he’s not people.’

 

‘Yeah, well, I tried calling him ‘Mister Fluffy Pants’ one time and he shredded my favourite shirt,’ Scott sighed as he slung his backpack over one shoulder. ‘So maybe just stick with Derek.’

 

Scott let himself out as Stiles stomped up the stairs, carrier dangling from one hand and a bag full of cat supplies in the other. Slipping into his room, he set the carrier on the bed and the supplies on the floor before closing the door. Kneeling down, Stiles leant his elbows on the matress, resting his head on his hands to stare in at the cat.

 

‘If I let you out of there, are you gonna be good?’

 

The cat stared back, unblinking, its eyes locked on Stiles’.

 

‘No shredding my sheets, no peeing on my bed, no chewing on my stuff. Okay - ’ He paused. ‘…Mister Fluffy Pants?’ The cat let out a low, guttural meow, its eyes narrowing. ‘Derek?’ Stiles tried, and the cat deflated, its small pink tongue swiping across its nose as it looked away, the very picture of indifference. ‘Okay,’ Stiles sighed, ‘Derek it is.’

 

Stiles reached out tentatively, long fingers unclasping the carrier’s latch. He let the door swing open and quickly shuffled backward on his knees, putting a safe distance between himself and Derek the hellcat. He waited, ready to bolt out of the room at the first sign of a claw. Derek stared at him calmly and made no move to leave the carrier.

 

‘O-kay then,’ Stiles said slowly, cautiously rising to his feet. ‘I guess I’ll just set this stuff up for you.’ Derek blinked lazily. ‘And stop talking to you. Because you’re a cat.’ Stiles concluded, logically. ‘Okay.’

 

He busied himself with making his room cat-friendly; he set the food and water bowls on the floor beside his desk, shoving a pair of sneakers out of the way. He shifted his telescope to make room for the litter tray beneath the window, which he opened a crack in anticipation of… _smells_.

 

Scott had also included an assortment of toys, mostly dangly things on sticks, a few balls with tinkling bells in them and one worse-for-wear teddy bear. It’s glassy eyes looked almost sad, and Stiles shook his head. ‘The things you must have seen, huh?’ He tossed the bear onto his bed, next the to the carrier. The _empty_ carrier. Stiles rotated slowly, his eyes wide as he sought out the cat. ‘Here, kitty,’ He said softly, his voice a sugary falsetto. ‘Derek? Where’d ya go, buddy?’

 

He knelt down, hands skating across the wiry carpet as he lowered himself towards the floor. He turned his ear to the ground, lifting the edge of his comforter to peer under the bed. ‘Derek?’

 

There was a muffled thud from behind him and Stiles whipped around to see a photo frame lying on the floor. Following it’s logical trajectory up, his eyes lighted on Derek, sitting imperiously atop the tall set of drawers beside his desk. ‘Whatcha doin’ up there, buddy? Huh?’ Stiles kept his voice soft as he began to slowly stand, not wanting to startle the cat. Derek watched him shrewdly. ‘Think maybe you wanna come down?’

 

Derek flicked his tail and a small stack of papers slid off the drawers, fluttering down to the ground.

 

Stiles’ jaw tightened. ‘Okay, those were my _meticulously organized_ chem notes, but that’s all right, you didn’t know that.’ He tilted his head, cracking his neck. ‘Come on, come get something to eat.’ He took another hesitant step towards the cat. ‘Whaddya say?’

 

Derek stood, and Stiles was about to congratulate himself on his excellent inter-species negation skills, when the cat turned and walked along the top of the drawers, his tail lazily caressing the lamp as he passed. Stiles realized where he was heading just a moment too late.

 

‘No, no, n-’ he leapt forward, arms outstretched as Derek lithely leapt from the top of the drawers to the mantle that jutted out from the wall. He trotted calmly along the shelf, displacing everything in his path. Trinkets, DVDs, CDs, a flask Scott had given him, a photo of his mom; they all rained down towards the floor. Groaning, Stiles surged forward to intercept as many things as he could. The sudden movement spurred Derek into a running leap from the end of the shelf, hitting Stiles’ surfboard where it was leaning against the wall. The board fell – Stiles’ fingers grasping in its wake – and glanced off the eyepiece of the telescope with enough force to leave it teetering precariously on one thin, metal leg. Stiles lunged for it, but his foot refused to lift, his momentum sending him crashing to the ground. Looking towards his feet he saw they were tangled in a long piece of rope with a toy mouse attached to the end. Groaning, he looked back up just in time to see the telescope lose its fight with gravity. It thudded to the floor, one of its metal feet catching on the lip of the litter tray and upending its contents across the carpet.

 

For a long moment, Stiles could only lie there in shock. ‘You have _got_ to be kidding me!’ He groaned, taking in the carnage that was his bedroom as he pushed himself off the floor. He leaned down, angrily untangling the cat toy from around his ankles.  

 

‘You are the _worst_.’ He looked over to see Derek lying on his printer, afternoon sun casting a golden glow over his fur, paws hanging neatly over the edge as he watched Stiles struggle to stand. ‘What is your _problem_? God, you are just…you are just,’ Stiles deflated, shoulders slouching. ‘You are just a cat. And I’m apparently a crazy person, because I’m acting like you’re doing this on purpose, god.’ He exhaled loudly, litter crunching under the soles of his shoes as he turned towards the door. He paused at the threshold, looking back to where Derek was now lying on his side, all four paws and tail dangling. ‘I’m going to get the broom, try not to nuke my room while I’m gone.’  Derek let out a low growl of what Stiles assumed was assent.

 

*

 

Stiles carefully slid his surfboard under his bed, next to his snowboard, skateboard, body board and any other potentially hazardous objects he could fit. Standing, he surveyed the room and had to admit it was probably cleaner now that it had been in a long time. He stretched, working the tension out of his shoulders and rotating his neck until it cracked. Kitty litter was a stubborn, stubborn substance, and even though he’d easily spent an hour on his hands and knees trying to vacuum it out of every nook and cranny, he suspected he’d be coming across the gritty pale granules for a long time. The sun had finally set on the clusterfuck that was his day, and Stiles was glad to see the end of it. He considered going downstairs to make dinner, but found he wasn’t hungry. It was the Adderall, he knew; knew he _should_ eat anyway. But it had been a damn long day. Sighing, he turned towards his desk to grab his laptop only to encounter a big, furry roadblock.

 

Derek had abandoned his spot atop the printer, probably once the sun moved, and was now lying on Stiles’ laptop, the edges just barely visible under Derek’s mass of fur.

 

‘Ugh, dude.’  Stiles groaned. ‘Enough already, come on.’ He reached out for the computer, his fingers brushing soft tendrils of Derek’s fur as he probed underneath the cat’s warm body. Derek reared back, his ears dropping flat against his head, pupils flaring as he hissed, mouth wide and wickedly shark teeth on display. Stiles jerked away, stumbling back a step. ‘Oh my _god_.’ He moaned, frustration welling up inside him. ‘No, you can _not_ trash my room _and_ deprive me of my laptop. Get up.’ Derek just glared, daring Stiles to make another move.

 

With a frustrated huff, Stiles stepped forward again, reaching out tentatively, hands trying to find the right angle of approach. Derek eyes him suspiciously, eventually lashing out with a swipe of his paw and another heated hiss. Stiles’ jumped a little, pulling his hands back. Derek’s tail swished, a warning.

 

‘You know what, the hell with this.’  Determined, Stiles turned, lifted a pillow off his bed and launched it at the cat. Derek yowled, paws scrabbling against the casing of Stiles’ laptop as he struggled to run. Eventually he found his feet, hurling himself off the desk and shooting across the floor and on to the bottom shelf of Stiles’ bookcase, finding refuge hiding behind a large model skull.

 

‘I didn’t want to do that!’ Stiles said smugly, grabbing his laptop and flopping down on his bed, ‘but you left me no choice.’  Derek’s only response was an icy stare.

 

*

 

After a few hours on World of Warcraft, Stiles was feeling considerably more relaxed. He’d had a successful raid, scored some quality loot; all was right in the world again. Typing goodbye to his guild, he signed off and opened a browser window, then a couple of tabs, typing in the addresses for facebook and Hotmail on autopilot.

 

‘Spam, spam, spam…’ he murmured, flicking the offending emails into his trash folder before clicking over to facebook. Three new notifications.

 

 _Allison Argent tagged a photo of you._ ‘Ugh,’ Stiles winced after clicking the notification; eyes half closed, too many chins. Untag.

 

 _Eli Bauer invited you to play –_ Nope.

_Scott McCall said he was with you._ Stiles clicked on the notice, Scott’s profile loading almost instantly. _I have the_ best _friend! Thanks man! :) – with Stiles Stilinski._ Stiles scoffed, barely refraining from letting loose on Scott for leaving him with Derek the destroyer. Instead, he clicked onto his own profile and started typing out a status.

 

 _Free to incredible sturdy home,_ he began. _Demon cat. Extremely resistant to affection. Diabolical. Liberal use of Crazy Eyes. Ideal owner is scratch resistant, and probably also crazy._ Stiles’ fingers hovered over the keyboard as he considered the next line. There was soft tickle of fur on his elbow, and Stiles jerked. ‘ _Oh_ my _god_.’

 

Derek was standing on the bed by Stiles’ left arm, lit up on one side by the white-blue glow of the computer screen. His eyes were on Stiles’ face, unwavering.

 

‘Uh, hey there Derek.’ The cat gave no indication it had even heard him, and Stiles wasn’t in the mood to care. He turned his attention back to the screen, reading over his draft advertisement. ‘Guess I can’t make you look too bad, huh? Or I’ll never get rid of you.’ He held his finger on the back button, watching the curser reverse over each letter until they were all gone. He rested his fingers on the keys, trying to think of an appropriate opening.

 

 _Free to good home. Black, fluffy cat._ Suddenly Derek lifted a paw setting it gently on Stiles’ left hand. Stile’s twitched his fingers, the motion dislodging the paw. Undeterred, Derek moved forward, stepping over Stiles’ forearm until he was standing directly in Stiles’ line of sight. Leaning down, he gave the keyboard a cursory sniff before depositing himself on it, trapping Stiles’ hands beneath his warm body.

 

‘What do you _want_?’ Stiles hissed, slipping one hand loose and rubbing his tired eyes.

 

 _Mrrrow_.

 

The meow was high and clear, and kind of cute, Stiles had to admit. Not like the low growls from before. He smiled despite himself. ‘Can I help you with something, or…?’

 

Derek turned, putting one paw in front of the other to walk up the slope of Stiles’ chest until they were face to face. _Mrrrrrrow_ , he mewed, and then he leant in and gently bumped his head against Stiles’.

 

Stiles froze. ‘What is this,’ he whispered, afraid of frightening the cat away, ‘what’s happening? Is this…is this affection? This is affection, right?’

 

Derek dipped in again, rubbing his impossibly soft head against Stiles’ cheek.

 

Slowly, carefully, Stiles lifted his hand and slipped a finger behind one of Derek’s ears. He swirled his fingertip, massaging the downy fur. Derek’s eyes drifted closed, his head unconsciously leaning towards Stiles’ hand as a low rumble started up in his chest.

 

‘Holy crap you’re _purring._ Like an actual cat!’ Emboldened, Stiles extended another finger, rubbing along Derek’s jaw and under his chin. The purring kicked up a notch and the cat lowered himself until his was lying completely on Stiles, the vibrations reverberating through both of their chests as Stiles stroked his hands down Derek’s neck, starting from his nose, over his face and down to his back.

 

‘You’re pretty freakin’ cute,’ Stiles smiled softly, closing his laptop and sliding it down to the floor one handed. He cupped a hand around Derek’s back legs, keeping the cat firmly against his chest as he settled down into his pillows, his eyes slipping shut. ‘I’m not saying I forgive you for that shit you pulled today but…yeah. Cute.’

 

Derek purred.

 

*

 

Stiles woke to the sun shining in through his window and Derek purring contentedly against his chest. ‘Mornin’ buddy,’ Stiles groaned as he stretched, his back arching up from the mattress. He exhaled loudly, flopping back down. ‘You sleep okay?’ Derek was slowly waking, disentangling himself from the sheets. Stiles made a disgusted face at the sight of tufts of fine, black hair clinging to his comforter. ‘Oh, gross.’ Derek just flicked his tail, and Stiles smiled. ‘Well, we kind of had a rough start there, but we came good, huh?’ He reached out to pet Derek’s fur, fingers just lighting on his haunches when the cat turned, hissing, and batted his hand away.

 

Stiles frowned, mouth dropping open in disbelief. ‘Are you kidding me right now? Last night it’s all purrs and headbutts and today it’s “nice knowing you”?’ He pulled his sheets tight around himself. ‘Way to make me feel like a cheap one night stand.’ Derek gave him a look - coming from a human, Stiles might have called it disdainful – and leapt gracefully down from the bed, tail held high in the air as he headed for the water bowl. ‘Moodswings, much?’

 

Stumbling out of bed, Stiles grabbed a shirt from the top drawer, pulling it over his head as he yawned loudly. He glanced down at where Derek was daintily lapping water from the small plastic bowl, and frowned.

 

‘Have you even touched your food?’ He nudged the food bowl with his toe. ‘Come on, yummy dry cat stuff. Mmmmm.’ Derek pointedly shifted so his butt was pointed at Stiles, his tail twitching. ‘Fine, whatever,’ Stiles conceded. ‘Enjoy starving.’

 

Stiles stumbled down the stairs to find his father sitting at the table, fully dressed with a mug of coffee in his hand and a case file spread out in front of him.

 

‘Morning.’ Stiles greeted, pulling open the pantry door and surveying the contents. The Sherriff grunted in reply as Stiles dropped two pop tarts into the toaster and jammed the lever down, jiggling it a little at the bottom until it stuck. They really needed a new toaster.

 

‘You already eaten?’ Stiles asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

 

‘I had granola,’ his dad answered, lifting his eyes from the paper in front of him and slipping off his glasses.

 

‘And?’ Stiles prompted.

 

‘And,’ the Sheriff sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘it tasted like cardboard. I miss bacon.’

 

‘You know what I don’t miss?’ Stiles mused, ‘Heart attack scares. Those sucked.’

 

‘It was _one_ , Stiles. Stop being so dramatic and eat your pop tarts.’

 

As if on cue, the toaster made a sickly grinding sound and his pop tarts slowly rose, slightly burnt on one side, as always. Stiles dropped them on a plate, biting into one – hot, hot, _too hot_ – and suddenly noticed what his dad was wearing.

 

‘Funeral suit, huh?’ Stiles waggled his eyebrows. ‘Hot date?’

 

The Sheriff looked at him like he was a moron. ‘Stiles, it’s nine in the morning.’

 

‘…Hot, post-breakfast date?’ Stiles tried. ‘Brunch?’

 

‘I’m giving evidence,’ the Sheriff explained, gesturing to the file in front of him.

 

‘Oh, right,’ Stiles clicked his fingers, searching his memory, ‘that drug dealer thing.’

 

‘Yes, that drug dealer thing.’ His father deadpanned, gathering up the file. ‘You got plans for today?’

 

Stiles shrugged noncommittally, picking at the edges of his remaining pop tart. ‘I’ve got this Chem thing on Monday I should probably study for, that’s pretty much it.’

 

‘Well don’t spend the rest of the day on the computer.’ His dad warned, draining the last of his coffee. ‘Get outside, practice some lacrosse or something.’

 

‘You betcha,’ Stiles replied, picking crumbs off his plate.

 

His father smiled, leaning down to press a kiss into his short hair. ‘And don’t forget to take your Adderall before it gets too late, you don’t wanna be up all night.’

 

Stiles smiled, leaning into the kiss. ‘I won’t. Thanks Dad. Have fun putting drug dealers in prison!’ He called out as his father left, the front door closing with a snick.

 

Stiles grabbed a tin of tuna from the pantry on his way out of the kitchen.

 

*

 

Derek was nowhere to be seen when Stiles opened his bedroom door, stepping inside cautiously. Fine, if Stiles couldn’t see him then he couldn’t be pain in the ass. Pulling the ring on the can of tuna, Stiles dumped it unceremoniously on top of the dry food in Derek’s bowl.

 

‘There,’ he announced to the room, ‘don’t ever say I didn’t do anything nice for you. Other than _saving your life_.’ He mumbled under his breath.

 

Derek didn’t make an appearance for most of the day. Stiles though he caught sight of a flash of black fur a couple of times, but clearly the cat wasn’t looking for company, and so the day passed as usual. Stiles swallowed his pills dry, reorganized and studied his chemistry notes, decided to try and fix the toaster himself, googled it, decided _not_ to try and fix the toaster himself, played a level of Call of Duty campaign and wrote up a basic outline for his English assignment. Dropping his pen, he focused on the time in the top right-hand corner of the computer display. Only one pm. _God._

 

He leaned back in his chair, swiveling as he scratched his fingers through his buzzcut. Derek had come out of hiding and was sitting on the middle of Stiles’ bed, his head resting oh his paws, eyes closed against the sunlight. Smirking to himself, Stiles leant across and slid his lacrosse stick from the straps of his backpack. Putting the net to the ground, he scooped up one of the balls Scott had given him for Derek. The bell inside tinkled softly as the ball settled. Derek’s ears twitched. With a flick of his wrist, Stiles sent the ball rolling across the floor, bell jingling loudly as it went.

 

Derek’s eyes snapped open, his slitted pupils tracking the ball as it made its noisy way across the floor. It hit the wall with a final loud _ding_ , and Derek’s gaze shifted to Stiles, his eyes narrowing.

 

‘Oh come _on_ ,’ Stiles whined. ‘I’m bored! You’re a cat, cats like toys. Here.’ Standing, Stiles strode across the room and used his stick to set the ball rolling again.

 

_Dingalingalingalingalingalingaling._

Derek’s ears flattened against his skull and he eyed the ball like he’d never seen something so offensive in all his nine lives.

 

The ball came to a halt at the foot of Stiles’ computer chair, and Derek once again turned to Stiles, his tail flicking and a warning in his eyes. _Don’t you dare._

Stiles, not above admitting he was getting a kick out of irritating his furry little problem, lowered the stick once more. Derek cleared the gap between the bed and the chair in one lithe movement, dropping down next to the ball.

 

‘There we go,’ Stiles said gleefully, ‘See? It’s fun!’ 

 

Never taking his eyes from Stiles, Derek slowly lifted a paw and gave the ball a very deliberate sideways swipe, sending it tinkling under the bed. Turning, he leapt up onto the desk and settled himself atop the printer, facing toward the window with his back to Stiles.

 

‘Oh..kay…then.’ Stiles said slowly, letting his lacrosse stick fall to the ground. ‘Message received, jeez. What’re you, the fun police?’ Not even a flick of his tail in acknowledgment. ‘Fine. I’m going to make some lunch.’

 

Stiles returned to find every trace of the Tuna gone.

 

*

 

On Sunday morning, Stiles woke up – alone – to the sound of his phone beeping. Though on closer inspection, there was rapidly cooling warm spot by his feet, and a suspicious amount of cat hair on his comforter. Reaching for his phone, his eyes scanned across the message from his father.

 

_Called in 2 station. Sry. Dont sleep too late._

 

Stiles rolled onto his stomach, letting one arm hang over the bed as he looked over to where Derek was sitting beneath the window.

 

‘You’re not as sly as you think you are,’ he mumbled into his mattress, slowly coming awake. ‘I’m onto you.’

 

 _Mrrow_ , Derek replied succinctly. Then he turned, reaching up to bat the bottom of the window blinds with a forepaw. _Mrrrrrrow_.

 

‘What?’ Stiles asked blearily, ‘you wanna go outside? You can’t.’

 

The blinds rattled as Derek hit them insistently, looking back over his shoulder at Stiles.

 

‘ _Why_ do you need to go outside?’ Stiles groaned, burrowing deeper into his blankets. ‘The litter tray is right there. You’re trained. Make.’

 

Derek slowly lowered his paw back to the ground, staring at Stiles coolly. Stiles…did not like that look.

 

‘What? What’s with the face?’

 

Derek picked his way through the clothes on the floor, jumping up to land lightly on the bed where – to Stiles’ alarm – he began scratching at the comforter, circling slowly.

 

‘Oh my god, no!’ In a moment Stiles was up, grabbing Derek around his middle with both hands. Holding him at arms length, he darted out of his room and down the stairs. ‘Hold it in, hold it in, hold it in!’ He chanted, barreling out the back door and dropping Derek on the grass. ‘Okay,’ Stiles panted, ‘you’re outside. God, how are you so high maintenance?’

 

Derek just sniffed up at him, trotting across the yard. Stiles followed closely, ready to make a grab for him in case he decided to take off. Arriving at a shrub, Derek gave Stiles a piercing look – ‘Right, got it, you do your thing I’ll just…look…over here’ – and disappeared behind the leaves.

 

As Stiles stood, waiting for his foster cat to finish its business in the privacy of a bush because _apparently_ it was too classy to crap in a box like every other cat, he tried to pinpoint the choices he had made that led to _this being his life._

He chose to blame Scott.

 

 _Mrrrow_. Stiles looked down to find Derek sitting by his feet, watching him.

 

‘All done?’ Stiles asked politely, and man, he really needed to stop talking to the damn cat. Derek didn’t seem perturbed, loping off across the lawn towards the back door. Stiles quickly caught up, reaching out to turn the handle. Only, it wouldn’t turn. He tried again, and again, greeted repeatedly with the solid _click_ of a locked door. He banged his head against the wood in frustration.

 

 _Mrow,_ Derek mewed expectantly.

 

‘This is all your fault you know,’ Stiles grumbled, not lifting his head from the door. ‘Have I told you today that I hate you?’ Derek just did something with his eyes that almost looked like he was rolling them at Stiles, and then took off. ‘Hey, where are you…Derek!’

 

Stiles jogged after him around the corner of the house, found him looking up the slightly ajar window of the second floor bathroom. ‘Fat lot of good that does us,’ me mumbled, but then Derek was running again. He scaled a nearby tree with ease, burying his claws in the rough bark. Stiles watched, mouth hanging open, as the cat scurried along a branch - that by all logic and the laws of physics shouldn’t have been able to hold Derek’s weight – and jumped from the narrow, leafy limb to land on the windowsill.

 

 _Mrow_ , he meowed. _Be impressed_ , Stiles heard. And then he was gone, squeezing through the gap and into the house.

 

‘Well, that’s just great,’ Stiles said to himself. ‘At least the _cat_ isn’t locked outside, that’d be awf-’ he was cut off by a loud click from the back of the house, followed by a low squeak like rusted hinges. Rounding the corner, his jaw dropped as he took in the sight of Derek sitting calmly in the open doorway, watching him carefully. ‘Uh, what?’ Stiles asked intelligently. ‘What did you…? _How_ did you…?’

 

Derek turned and walked away.

 

*

 

Stiles could _not_ read another thing about chemistry. He just couldn’t. One more covalent bond and he’d claw his own eyes out. His leg was jumping under the desk, rattling the pens and pencils scattered on its surface and earning him a scathing glare from where Derek sat on the printer. Stiles felt itchy in his own skin; he needed to do something physical before he went insane. He briefly considered jerking off, his pointer hovering over his porn folder –cleverly titled _not porn, dad_ \- but thought better of it. The last thing he needed was the memory of trying to rub one out while Derek sent him death glares from across the room.

 

Instead, he walked away from his desk, rolling and stretching his shoulders to limber up before dropping to the floor. Derek looked on quietly as Stiles moved into the pushup position, arms wide to either side, legs stretching long behind him. ‘Okay, here we go,’ he muttered to himself as he began his first rep, ‘first line won’t happen on it’s own.’

 

The room was quiet but for his quick, shallow breaths as he pushed through the set. That was probably why he was so surprised when a cat suddenly landed on his back.

 

‘Whuh!’ His arms gave out and he thudded to the floor. ‘Ow, Derek?’

 

The cat meowed lowly and began to knead Stiles though his shirt.

 

‘Ow, _ow_! I’m trying to work out here, get off!’ Stiles wriggled from side to side, but Derek just dug his claws in and held on for the ride. ‘Ugh, fine.’ Stiles gave up, lifting himself back into the start position. ‘I could use the resistance.’ Starting another set, he felt Derek settle down, lying along Stiles’ lower back, paws just above his ass.

 

Derek wasn’t exactly a small cat, and the added weight had Stiles flagging early. He felt his technique slipping, his core muscles loosening, and he huffed in frustration. Suddenly he felt claws digging into his ass cheek, not a gentle knead but a full on scratch. He tensed up, instinctively tightening his core, and the claws withdrew.

 

‘You,’ Stiles panted heavily with each push, ‘Are…the… _weirdest_ …cat.’

But he also turned out to be a decent work out partner. He planted himself on Stiles’ chest while he did crunches, his lap while he did tricep dips. And he always seemed to dig his claws in right when Stiles’ technique was slipping. Ostensibly he was bracing himself against Stiles’ sudden shift in balance, but it was handy regardless.

 

Eventually Stiles moved into a series of cool down stretches, which Derek apparently found boring enough to leave him alone. The cat reassumed his favourite position on the printer, eyes still on Stiles.

 

‘Man,’ Stiles breathed, coming to his feet, ‘you know how to push a guy.’ He peeled his sweaty shirt off his skin and over his head, looking down at his torso. ‘You know what, I think this stuff is actually starting to pay off.’ He traced his fingers across the barely-there definition of his abs – _abs!_ – and up to his chest. ‘Definitely a change there.’

 

Derek let out a high, reedy mewl from across the room and Stiles frowned. ‘What the hell was that? A hairball?’ Lifting his arm to wipe sweat from his brow, Stiles got a heady waft of B.O. ‘Oh my god,’ he choked, ‘shower.’ He pointed an accusatory finger at Derek. ‘Do _not_ throw up a hairball while I’m gone. I’m serious.’

 

*

 

Stiles lay in bed, his laptop propped up on his knees as he scrolled through his facebook feed. It was early, but tomorrow was a school day and he needed a good night’s sleep before the chem test of doom. It had taken another tin of tuna to get Derek to eat, and then another trip outside – spare key in hand – after that. It had been a long, frustrating weekend, and sleep was calling. He was just about to shut down when a message window popped up, Scott’s smiling face in the corner.

 

_Hey man, havent found any1 to take the cat yet, sry! Can u deal w/ him 4 a little longer?_

 

He felt the mattress dip, and looked up as Derek silently slipped up beside him, gently headbutting his shoulder. ‘Oh, this again, huh?’ Derek purred, rubbing his face against Stiles’ bicep. ‘Fine. Guess I don’t need to worry about you not respecting me in the morning, since that implies you respect me now.’

 

 _It’s fine_ , he replied to Scott, _I’ll c u 2morrow._

 

He closed out of facebook, revealing his current desktop wallpaper, a shirtless Ryan Gosling. ‘Um,’ Stiles said, looking at Derek and feeling weirdly self conscious, ‘that stays between you and me. And Scott, Scott’s cool.’ Derek tilted his head, and Stiles narrowed his eyes. ‘You don’t get to judge me, okay? Don’t think I didn’t see you licking your own bits earlier today.’

 

Derek bristled, but climbed onto Stiles’ chest anyway.

 

‘Okay, okay.’ Stiles shut down his laptop, rolling onto his side and letting Derek settle against him. ‘See you in the morning,’ he murmured, his fingers stroking through Derek’s soft fur even as his eyes closed.

 

*

 

‘Stiles, Stiles!’

 

Stiles looked up from where he was cramming books into his locker to see Scott hurtling down the corridor towards him.

 

‘Hey man,’ Stiles greeted, ‘what’s up? All ready for that chem test?’

 

‘Do you still have the cat?’ Scott’s voice was urgent, his eyes wide.

 

‘What, Derek?’ Stiles asked, confused. ‘Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?’

 

‘Oh thank god.’ Scott slumped against the row of lockers with a thud.

 

‘You’re acting weird man,’ Stiles side-eyed his friend while he continued to unpack his bag. ‘What’s going on?’

 

Scott took a deep breath. ‘Okay, so, it turns out I wasn’t actually supposed to rehome Derek.’

 

‘What?’ Stiles frowned. ‘Why?’

 

‘Dude, Deaton was beyond pissed when he got in this morning and realized Derek was gone.’

 

‘Wait a minute, Deaton? Your boss, Deaton? _That guy_ got pissed?’ Stiles laughed, disbelieving.

 

‘Well, really he just gets quieter than usual.’ Scott admitted. ‘It’s subtle and terrifying. But apparently he knew who the cat belonged to, but the owner was going through some personal stuff, so Deaton agreed to keep Derek for a while. But then the owner called him and were coming in to pick Derek up _today_.’ He adjusted his backpack, leaning against the lockers. ‘I told Deaton we’d drop him over after school, is that cool?’

 

‘Uh, yeah I guess,’ Stiles said slowly, closing his locker, ‘but what do we really know about this owner of his, huh? They can’t be that great, they left him to roam the streets like that. Are you sure you should be handing him over so easily?’

 

Scott seemed to consider this as they walked towards class. ‘Deaton’s a good guy, he wouldn’t give Derek back to them unless he knew it’d be safe.’

 

‘If you say so,’ Stiles sighed as they strolled into the classroom.

 

*

 

‘Derek?’  Stiles cooed, setting the cat carrier on his bed. ‘Where are you? Come on, we’re gonna take you home, buddy.’

 

Derek materialized from behind a pile of books, watching Stiles curiously.

 

‘There he is,’ Scott pointed, moving to grab the cat. Derek evaded him easily, scurrying across the carpet towards Stiles. ‘Stiles, can you grab him?’

 

‘Um, _no_ ,’ Stiles answered emphatically, ‘not if I want to remain scratch free and-’ he was surprised into silence by the feeling of Derek pressing against his ankles. Looking down, he watched as the cat wove in and out between his legs, rubbing its face against the denim of Stiles’ jeans. ‘Holy crap,’ Stiles breathed.

 

‘He’s a cat, Stiles, they tend to do that,’ Scott said with a laugh.

 

‘Uh, not in front of _people_. I thought I was his dirty little secret.’ Emboldened by Derek’s affection, Stiles bent down and scooped him up, holding Derek close to his chest and looking into his eyes. ‘You gotta go, buddy,’ he said softly, scratching him gently behind the ears. ‘Somebody’s waiting for you. But it’s been cool knowing you. Mostly.’ He amended with an indulgent smile.

 

Derek’s purr rumbled out from his chest as he pressed his head against Stiles’, dropping a gentle lick on the tip of his nose.

 

‘All right, you’re officially freaking me out,’ Stiles laughed, moving to put Derek in the carrier. To Stiles’ and Scott’s surprise, he went without a fuss, turning around to peer out at them as Scott latched the door. ‘Dude, what about all his stuff?’ Stiles gestured to the cat paraphernalia scattered throughout the room.

 

Scott shrugged, ‘I’ll get it off you later. I’m sure he’ll have other stuff to play with at home, right?’

 

Stiles almost laughed at the idea of Derek playing with anything, but he just nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s go.’

 

Stiles reached down to lift the carrier of the bed. The movement sent up tufts of black fur, and he watched them drift through the air.

 

*

 

‘Thank you again, Stiles, for taking such good care of him,’ Deaton intoned absently as he ran his hands over Derek’s fur, his eyes assessing the cat. ‘I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble?’

 

‘No problem,’ Stiles smiled genially as Derek turned his patented _say-that-to-my-face_ glare on Deaton. ‘And nah, could have been worse. Actually I was thinking,’ Stiles reached out to absently toy with a bunch of herbs, ‘if his owner needed more time or something I could-‘

 

‘Time?’ Deaton interrupted, arching an eyebrow as he plucked the herbs from Stiles’ hand – _and why were there herbs in a vet’s office anyway?_

 

‘Yeah,’ Stiles answered, looking around with interest and the collection of plants and little bottles arranged on Deaton’s desk, ‘Scott said he had some personal stuff going on?’ Stiles gestured over his shoulder, vaguely towards where Scott was in another part of the surgery organizing supplies.

 

‘Yes, Derek…Derek’s owner has being going through,’ Deaton paused, considering, ‘something of an adjustment period. But that should all be done with after tonight.’

 

Stiles was only half listening, watching with a smile as Derek dipped his fuzzy head to investigate a carved wooden bowl on the desk. Deaton reached out and lifted it from under the cat’s nose, setting it aside. ‘Okay well,’ Stiles shrugged, thrusting his hands in his pockets, ‘I guess I’ll get out of your hair then. Figuratively.’ He made a twitchy gesture towards Deaton’s bald pate, then cringed at his own awful joke.

 

Deaton gave him a tight smile. ‘Goodbye, Stiles.’

 

The last thing Stiles saw as the door to Deaton’s office closed, was Derek sitting on the desk, head high, watching him with a steady gaze.

 

*

 

Stiles was at home alone when the doorbell rang. He peered cautiously through the peephole, but the visitor was facing away and Stiles couldn’t see much. Dude, tall, dark hair, leather jacket.

 

Nice ass.

 

Curious, he opened the door and the man turned to face him. _Huminah._ He was young, probably in his early twenties, though the thick, dark stubble across his strong jaw lent him a more mature quality. His eyes were pale green and clear, set below a strong brow. His nose was sharp, his whole face almost severe in its entirety. And then he smiled.

 

Deep dimples appeared and he revealed straight, white teeth – the front two adorably oversized. It changed his whole face, and Stiles couldn’t help but feel it was something rare and precious. And ball-achingly hot.

‘Stiles, hi.’

 

 _Oh god._ ‘Yes, hello, Stiles is me – I am- ’ It took every ounce of willpower Stiles had not to slam the door and repeatedly bash his head against it. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut, inhaled deeply, and started again. ‘Hi. Sorry. Have we met?’ _Ha_ , Stiles thought, _like I’d forget that_.

 

‘Uh, no not really,’ the guy answered, his smile dimming, and…okay? Whatever that meant. ‘I know Doctor Deaton, he said you had some stuff belonging to the cat?’

 

Stiles took a moment to let his brain catch up as the man raised his eyebrows expectantly. ‘Oh! The cat, yeah. So you must be the elusive owner?’ The guy just offered a tight smile in response, and Stiles suddenly remembered his manners. ‘Come on in,’ He stepped back, waving for the man to follow him inside. ‘The stuff’s upstairs, this way, uh,’ Stiles paused, looking back over his shoulder. ‘Sorry, I didn’t get your name.’

 

‘Derek.’ He replied, and Stiles stopped to stare at him incredulously.

 

‘Derek? You named your cat after _yourself_?’

 

‘No,’ Derek rolled his eyes, ‘he’s not technically my cat. I was just watching him for a friend when he got away on me.’ He gave Stiles a gentle prod to get him moving again.

 

Stiles obliged, starting up the stairs. ‘So your friend named their cat after you?’

 

‘We’re very close.’

 

‘Clearly.’

 

*

 

Stiles wished he’d made his bed, or washed his sheets, or picked up his clothes, - or _closed his laptop oh my god_ – or done any number of things he surely would have done had he known he’d have a sinfully attractive man in his room. But he hadn’t, so he hadn’t. He practically threw himself across to his desk, closing his laptop on Ryan Gosling’s sterling abs.

 

‘Sorry about the mess,’ He blurted, bending to pick up clothes, kicking his sneakers into a corner. ‘Wasn’t really expecting…people.’ And didn’t thatsound lame.

 

‘It’s fine,’ Derek replied, eyes glancing around the room. They paused a moment on the laptop, and again on the bed, but soon found their way back to Stiles, who could only stare at him like an idiot. ‘Is that the stuff?’ Derek eventually prompted, gesturing to a corner with his elbow, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets.

 

And, yes, that was clearly the stuff. Stiles had gathered the cat supplies into a pile in the corner, the toys and bowls all sitting neatly inside the litter tray. ‘Uh, yeah that’s all of it, I think.’ He handed it off to Derek, feeling weirdly sad to see it go.

 

‘So, thanks,’ Derek said suddenly, apropos of nothing, ‘for looking after him. I know he can be kind of…abrasive. I just hope,’ he shifted awkwardly, moving the laden litter tray from one arm to the other, ‘I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble. This seems like a nice place, I’m sure he liked it here.’

 

Stiles looked around his room, plain, a little messy, nothing too exciting. ‘Yeah, I guess,’ he shrugged. ‘And he was fine, great even. We had a rough start, but he’s pretty cool.’ Stiles couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face, ‘Cute too.’

 

Derek coughed awkwardly, shifting his load once again. ‘So is this everything?’

 

‘Yep,’ Stiles nodded, then froze, ‘oh! Wait.’ He dropped to his hands and knees on the floor and stretched one arm out under the bed. He wiggled his fingers, groping blindly until his hand bumped hard plastic and he heard a distant tinkle. ‘Aha!’ He exclaimed, grasping the ball. He brushed dust from it as he climbed to his feet, holding the toy out to Derek. ‘Although you might just wanna throw this one out, I think he kind of hated it.’ Stiles gave the ball a shake, setting the bell inside jingling, and Derek flinched before grabbing it from Stiles with a little more than necessary force.

 

Thanks,’ he grunted, sounding less than grateful. ‘I should probably get going.’

 

‘Yeah, totally, of course,’ Stiles babbled, leading the way back downstairs. ‘And you know, if your friend ever needs a cat sitter – I mean, other than you, obviously – I’d be happy to-’

 

‘Actually, he’s moving out of state.’ Derek interjected. ‘My friend. With the cat. So, he won’t be around.’

 

‘Oh,’ and dammit if that didn’t make Stiles legitimately sad. The stupid fluffy cat had only been in his life for three days, and most of that had sucked, but he was gonna miss the little guy. ‘Okay, well, thanks for picking this stuff up.’ Stiles said with a smile, reaching out to hold open the front door. ‘Nice meeting you.’ _Understatement_ , his brain provided helpfully.

 

‘Yeah,’ Derek replied tersely, slipping past Stiles to the porch, ‘yeah, you too.’ And then he proceeded to stand there, staring at Stiles with a bizarrely intent expression.

 

‘So, bye!’ Stiles chirped when the silence was verging on awkward, pulling the door closed.

 

‘Stiles!’ Derek barked, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin with the shock of having his own name _yelled_ at him.

 

He pulled the door back open fully, eyes wide. ‘Yes?’

 

‘Would you like to go out sometime, with me? For food or coffee or-’

 

‘Yes!’ Stiles blurted eagerly, a grin splitting his face. He struggled to smother it, aiming for – and probably falling miles short of - pleased nonchalance, ‘yes that is absolutely something that I would like to do with you.’

 

‘Oh,’ and Derek seemed honestly surprised. ‘Great.’ And the smile was back, his features softening. ‘Deaton has your number, right?’

 

‘He sure does,’ Stiles answered with conviction. _Or he will have, in about two minutes_.

 

‘So, I’ll call you,’ Derek smiled, slowly backing away from the door, and Stiles’ heart did somersaults.

 

‘Awesome, I’ll definitely answer,’ and he didn’t even care how stupid that sounded, because Derek just huffed out a laugh and turned to walk away. Stiles closed the door, opting to watch Derek leave through the peephole, because it seemed less creepy than gawking from the doorway. He watched until the small, distorted blob that was Derek merged with a small, distorted blob that was presumably a car, and then he sprinted up to his room in record time.

 

The first text was to Deaton, short and sweet, his number attached. The second was to Scott.

 

_Ur going 2 b the best vet EVER._

                                                        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading. Fun fact, the inspiration for this fic is a hellcat that I used to live with, [pictured here in all her angry demonic glory.](http://sphotos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-frc1/294624_10152055987105203_17890755_n.jpg) The hot/cold routine cat!Derek pulls on Stiles is lifted straight from real life, my friends. She was so cute one second and then hellspawn the next. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, please comment! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [scottmotherfuckinmccall](http://scottmotherfuckinmccall.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It's Me or the Dog.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/878020) by [BeyondtheWords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondtheWords/pseuds/BeyondtheWords)




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